How much did you drink?
The words bounced around in her head while Esmeralda considered her answer.
None, of course. That was the obvious answer, as well as the truth. But some little part of the gypsy's brain that made her pause in her answer.
"Why do you care?" she asked, instead.
The archdeacon growled and his fingers tightened into her hips, where he was holding her. He kept his cheek pressed to her belly for another second before rising up to his full height and glaring down at her.
"Why do you think I care, you insufferable woman? What were you thinking, digging through those boxes? Did it not occur to you that there could be poisons in there? You could die!"
"So what?" she demanded, taking on a expression that, unbeknownst to her, looked more childish than haughty. "Maybe I want to die. Have you thought of that? I am miserable… I have nothing left to live for. If I wish to destroy myself, who are you to stop me?"
"I am your master! Your guardian! I am the only one left who cares for you!"
"My Phoebus loves me more than you ever could."
"Your Phoebus," he sneered, "is dead."
"Ah-ha!" she cried, triumphantly. "You lie, priest! He lives! I saw him today, from the window. He is looking for me, and will soon rescue me from this place. Release me now, and I will plead on your behalf. I will ask him to kill you quickly."
Shock flashed over his face. In less than a second, it disappeared.
No, Claude assured himself. He could not possibly have lived through… No… there was too much blood… the knife had penetrated too deeply. One simply does not survive those injuries. Still, her insistence and confidence had the priest bothered.
"Do not be foolish, girl. He is dead. I killed him myself." Inwardly he cringed at having to remind her that he was the one to kill her lover… but she had to recognize the truth and stop living this fantasy of distressed damsel, about to be rescued by her charming hero.
"Now you are the one being foolish," she insisted. "He is alive. I saw him with my own eyes. Your hunchback witnessed him, too. Ask him, if you do not believe me."
Claude pinched the bridge of his nose. It was becoming clearer by the second that she had not ingested anything from the smashed bottle. If she had, she would probably be beyond help by now. But that didn't change the fact that she could very well have died! This nonsense about the captain was, no doubt, an attempt to distract him. Did the silly child have no idea how serious her actions were?
"Esmeralda. Dear Esmeralda… you must not touch your master's things. Some of the elixirs in those bottles are very poisonous."
She scoffed and he lost what little calm he had possessed. "One bottle to the left, Esmeralda!" he yelled, shaking her. "One bottle to the left and you would have been very painfully killed."
"Unlikely," she said, unconcerned. Then she matter-of-factly confirmed, "I didn't drink any."
Claude started to laugh--not a pleasant sound--and his eyes turned fiery. "Do you think that matters?" He pointed down to the floor, where remnants of liquid still trickled away from the smashed bottle. Then he lifted the bottle to the left of the now empty slot in the box.
Forcing her to look at the odd symbols on the jar, he asked, "Do you know what this says? Of course you don't! Then perhaps I shall read it to you. It says: Lethal when inhaled. Do you know what that means, Esmeralda? It means, if you had dropped this bottle instead… you would not be alive to torment me right now. And it would not be a pleasant death either, let me assure you. Shall I detail to you what happens to a body that breathes this in?"
"NO!" she cried, horrified, "Please, please don't! I beg of you."
He growled and threw her onto the bed. "Perhaps I should take pity on you, then," he decided. His voice, though obviously angry, leveled out as he regained control of himself. Esmeralda huddled on the bed wretchedly, watching his ever-changing emotions and praying to whomever or whatever was listening that he would stay sane just a little while longer.
After a moment of agitated pacing, Frollo sat down on the bed, beside her. Very gently, he rested one hand on her knee while the other wiped the tears off her cheeks, all the while ignoring the way she flinched and shifted at his touch.
"Esmeralda…" he breathed reverently, "I keep balms and medicines, here in this office, that will heal you if you become unwell. However, there are also things that could make you very sick… or even kill you. The point is, you do not know which is which… and you must never touch my things when you do not know what they are. You must forgive my anger, my gypsy… but I cannot bear to lose you. Do you understand?"
Esmeralda did not answer, instead she curled in on herself and began weeping in earnest.
"There, there…" the priest soothed, wrapping his arms around her unwilling form and rocking her softly. "No harm done, sweet. I could never stay angry with you…"
Esmeralda half-listened to his murmured platitudes. Did he think she was upset because he was angry with her? Really? He stroked her curls and planted butterfly kisses along her hairline. She squirmed in revulsion, but it was clear he wasn't letting her go any time soon. After a moment, she gave a resigned sigh and relaxed against him, inwardly cringing when she felt him smile.
"In fact," he continued, "I have a surprise for you."
A surprise? She suddenly felt sick.
"All the arrangements are complete."
"A-arrangements?"
"Of course, dear. For our marriage. I had thought to wait until next week but, given these recent events, I think it would be best if we left tonight."
"Tonight?" she panicked, "Where?" If I leave here… how will Phoebus ever find me? No… no…
"Haven't you been listening? Yes, we're leaving tonight… to the special home I have for us. Remember? Oh Esmeralda, my love, it will be perfect! A little house by the water, just like I promised you."
"But… but it is too late to leave tonight!" Esmeralda stated, grasping at whatever logic she could think of that would buy her a little extra time. "It will be too dark. We will get lost. Can we not wait until tomorrow?" Or not go at all?
"Nonsense, child," he happily declared, "it is summer now and there are still a few hours of daylight left. But hurry… we must not waste any more time."
As the gypsy paced and eyed him fretfully, the archdeacon gathered up a few books and personal belongings for the journey. Most of their necessities would already be waiting for them at the cottage, assuming everything had gone as planned and the couple he hired to maintain the place were not complete idiots.
Esmeralda, however, had nothing to pack with her. She didn't even have a suitable dress! Claude would rectify this as soon as possible. After all, what kind of husband would he be if he did not provide for his wife? He told her as much, of course, to allay her fears… but she merely shrugged and went back to her scowling.
Secretly, Claude was somewhat pleased that she had nothing that belonged to her. It gave him a chance to show her that he would take care of her. Her dependence made him giddy. A small part of him fantasized about binding her to a chair, blindfolded. Then he could truly be her provider in all things… sunlight and freedom being allotted to her in accordance with his own judgment.
But reason and adoration won out against his darker whims; he could never confine his little sparrow like that.
Instead he contented himself that she would be his to dress up and care for. He would be her world now, just as she became his long ago. Her clothing, entertainment… hell, her very existence… would come from him alone.
And then she would have to love him, right? She would learn to trust him and depend on him. Her love would surely follow.
Claude paused and smiled strangely, causing the gypsy girl to reel back in surprise.
She is truly mine, now, he thought with a chuckle. Her life, quite literally, depends on it!
--
Quasimodo swung his feet from the summit of the Northern tower. To anyone else, his odd position seemed precarious at best and more than a little dangerous. But the bell ringer was used to these rafters and gargoyles and would perch himself upon them with the same ease that one might lounge in a chair.
He was at home up here, in his tower, with his bells whom he loved and considered his best of friends.
"Oh Marie," he sighed to the Great Bell, beside him, "I hope I did not make you terribly angry. Here you are… my steady, dependable friend… and I go and give my heart to another. Can you ever forgive me?"
His head snapped to another bell on his left. "Don't you think I know that, Gabrielle? Of course she would never love someone like me! I just never imagined it would hurt like this. How could it not. You saw, Jacqueline, did you not? How high up you are! You must have seen me running after the captain like that… down below."
"Do you think so? Do you think I should tell Esmeralda the truth? But… I could not. I could never. I could not bear to bring her such pain. It is better that she hates me than suffers the knowledge that that stupid man wants nothing to do with her. Tell them, Jacqueline… tell your sisters how he kicked me… how he shouted at me."
"No, I do not know what he said… how could I? Be reasonable, Thibauld. But… I am not so blind that I could not see his intent. He does not love her. Not as she deserves. But… I could never tell her that. I shall take her pain upon myself instead."
"What's this, Marie? You still think I should try to make her see reason? Are you… truly… all in agreement about this?"
"Well, then… I shall give it some more thought. But, not now… it is getting dark… I will be able to check on her again without risk of being seen."
As Quasimodo prepared to launch himself off his ledge toward a lower protrusion, he paused. Giving one last, affectionate look at the Great Bell and said, "Do not be jealous, Marie. You shall always be my first love. I promise you… a piece of my heart shall always belong to you."
With a great burst of energy, he swung down the building, catching himself on rafters and ledges with an agility that no other could ever hope to match.
His gypsy awaited. He would give her distance for awhile, let her anger cool some, before approaching her. But he would still watch her from afar. Her silent protect her, as he was meant to be.
It did not take long to reach the room where she was being kept… and that was when his hopeful thoughts were dashed.
She was gone.